23

When Amy came in for dinner, she looked at Prima’s clothes for a long time. She didn’t say anything, but my big sister is very easy to read. I knew she was afraid that Roman tunics were an amazing new fashion statement that had somehow managed to pass her by.

Then she looked down at Prima’s feet.

‘OMG,’ she said. ‘Those are the most amazing gladiator sandals I’ve ever seen. Where did you get them? I’d love a pair like that!’

‘Prima doesn’t speak English,’ said Tilly quickly. ‘And you can’t get sandals like that. The shop she got them in closed down.’

‘Ages ago,’ I added helpfully.

Amy immediately lost interest in Prima. She went over to the dresser and turned on the radio. Prima ran over and looked round the back of the radio, like she expected to see a group of miniature slaves trapped inside, singing at the tops of their voices.

‘She’s probably looking for Felix,’ said Tilly.

Before I could answer, the microwave pinged and Prima jumped, then collapsed into a loud fit of giggling.

We all sat down and Mum served the food. Prima watched how we used our knives and forks and did her best to copy us, but this wasn’t a great success. (It was spaghetti bolognaise for dinner – not easy for a beginner.)

‘Poor Prima,’ whispered Tilly. ‘Imagine, she’s from Italy and this is her first time seeing spaghetti.’

When she’d finally managed to empty her plate, Prima leaned over to the salad bowl and picked out a cherry tomato. She smelled it and then she rolled it along the table, like it was a toy.

‘Surely she’s seen a tomato before?’ whispered Tilly.

‘Now that I think about it, I didn’t see any tomatoes in Roman times,’ I whispered back. ‘Maybe they weren’t discovered back then.’

Suddenly Prima squeezed the tomato and it burst, spraying Dad with juice and seeds. Prima threw her head back and laughed for ages.

‘You’d think that was the funniest thing she’d ever seen,’ said Tilly.

‘It probably is the funniest thing she’s ever seen,’ I said. ‘She’s led a very sheltered life.’

Then we were distracted as Prima used the tablecloth to wipe her face and her fingers and the front of her tunic.

While all this was happening, Mum looked vaguely shocked, Stephen giggled at everything Prima did, and Amy paid no attention to anything, as she was too busy fiddling with her iPod.

Dad tried to speak to Prima in every language he knew a few words of. (Luckily he didn’t know any Latin.)

Then, when Prima didn’t reply to any of his questions, he decided that shouting at her in bad English was the best way to proceed.

‘YOU … LIKE … IRELAND … NO?’ he screamed. ‘IS … VERY … NICE … HERE … NO?’

Prima sat back in her chair, looking terrified, but Dad didn’t notice. He kept on shouting at her, until Mum patted his arm.

‘The poor girl doesn’t understand,’ she said. ‘And I think you might be scaring her a little bit.’

Dad took that as a sign to shout even more loudly and slowly.

‘I … DID … NOT … MEAN … TO … SCARE … YOU,’ he shouted, so loudly that Prima burst into tears.

She jumped up from the table and ran towards the door. Unfortunately she was still holding the edge of the tablecloth. Stephen grabbed for the other end, but was a second too late. There was a huge crash and soon the floor was a mess of broken dishes and scraps of bolognaise sauce. A single unbroken glass rolled slowly backwards and forwards against the leg of the table before coming to rest at Mum’s feet.

Prima stopped at the door and stood there like an Ancient Roman statue.

Amy shrieked.

Stephen said ‘Wow!’

Mum was white-faced and speechless.

Dad shrugged and said, ‘What did I do?’

Tilly grabbed my arm. ‘Looks like a volcano has erupted in your kitchen,’ she whispered. It was funny, but one look at Mum’s face told me that laughing sooo wouldn’t be a good idea.

As soon as we’d all recovered a bit, Mum rushed me out of the room.

‘No need for you to help with the clear-up, Lauren,’ she said. ‘Just take that very strange girl out of here before she does any more weird stuff. I don’t care what country she’s from, they must be very uncivilized there.’

‘Mrs Simms says the Ancient Romans had one of the first great civilizations,’ Tilly muttered to me as we each took one of Prima’s arms and led her upstairs.

Up in my bedroom, Prima lay on the floor, drawing all over my English exercise book with my colouring pencils. She didn’t seem too bothered that she’d just trashed my kitchen – maybe she thought we had a team of slaves to clean it up again.

‘What are we supposed to do with her now?’ I asked.

Tilly shrugged. ‘I have no idea. And I don’t think there are any support groups on the Internet for people who are landed with unexpected visitors from ancient times. Looks like we’re on our own.’

‘It’s getting late, so she’ll have to sleep here,’ I said. ‘And do you think your dad will let you stay over too?’

‘But I haven’t seen Dad for ages,’ protested Tilly. ‘It’s been days and days.’

I sighed. ‘I know it feels like that, but in real time, you saw him just this morning.’

‘But –’ she began, before I cut her off.

‘I really, really want you to stay. I don’t think I could face a night here with just Prima and me.’

And so, because Tilly’s a good friend, she ran home and got some overnight stuff. Prima changed into a pair of my pyjamas, and when Tilly got back, she was sitting on my bed, brushing her hair.

‘OMIGOD,’ said Tilly. ‘Prima looks normal. She looks just like one of us.’

I looked at Prima and saw that Tilly was right. Prima wasn’t a weirdo from another time and place any more. She looked like an ordinary girl, on an ordinary sleepover. She smiled and I felt a sudden rush of warmth for her. I ran over and hugged her.

‘Friends forever,’ I said.

Of course Prima didn’t understand, but she hugged me back and that was enough.